#for someone whos just too tired of adventuring and the life on the road

[bennidraws]

and what if they opened the most noble brothel in baldur's gate where every worker is treated with utmost respect and all the creeps are getting fed to the dogs.

and what if they were selling rich clientele's information to the underground.

what if they were sex positive, rich, eat-the-rich criminals

[anniebeemine]

our little astronaut- s.r. x fem!reader

warnings: pregnancy, mentions of a complicated birth

The sun dipped low on the horizon, painting the Midwestern sky in brilliant hues of orange and yellow. You and Spencer had just finished a case, and now you were on the long drive back home. The air was filled with a quiet sense of relief and exhaustion, but there was also a shared anticipation for the journey home.

You stared out the window, captivated by the stunning sunset. The rays of sun stretched across the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the landscape. You felt a surge of emotion well up inside you, a mixture of awe and the overwhelming hormones that came with pregnancy. You reached up to wipe away a tear that had slipped down your cheek.

Spencer glanced over at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Are you crying over a sunset?" he teased gently, his eyes twinkling with affection.

You laughed through your tears, nodding. "I know it sounds silly, but it's just so beautiful."

Spencer chuckled, reaching over to place a comforting hand on your growing bump. "I think it's sweet. Our son is already getting to experience some of the most beautiful sights in the world."

You placed your hand over Spencer's, feeling the warmth of his touch and the connection you shared. "I just want him to have a good life, Spencer. I want him to see all the beauty in the world and know that he's loved."

"He will," Spencer said, his voice filled with certainty. "He already is. And he's got the best mom to show him all that beauty."

You smiled, leaning into his touch. "And the best dad to teach him everything he needs to know."

You drove in comfortable silence for a while, the rhythmic hum of the car and the fading light of the sunset creating a peaceful ambiance. The road ahead stretched out into the distance, leading you back to Virginia and the life you were building together.

As the last rays of sunlight disappeared below the horizon, Spencer squeezed your hand gently. "Are you feeling okay? Do you need anything?"

You shook your head. "I'm good. Just a little tired, but that's to be expected."

Spencer nodded, keeping his eyes on the road but his thoughts on you. "We'll stop soon and get some rest. I don't want you to overdo it."

"I'm fine, Spencer. Really," you reassured him.

"Always," Spencer said softly. "I love you. And I can't wait to meet our son, but when is the next time we’ll be on our own?"

"I love you too," you replied, feeling a swell of emotion again. "And I can't wait either."

As you continued your journey, the stars began to twinkle in the night sky, casting a serene glow over the landscape. The road ahead was long, but you faced it together, united in your love and the new life you were about to welcome into the world.

With every mile you traveled, Spencer felt a deep sense of contentment. He had found a partner in you, someone who understood him and shared his passion for helping others. You had faced countless challenges together, both professionally and personally, and now you were about to embark on the greatest adventure of all: parenthood. Your hand remained on your bump, feeling the gentle movements of your son. You knew there would be tough times ahead, but with Spencer by your side, you felt ready to face anything. The future was bright, filled with promise and possibility.

A few hours later, as the night grew darker and the stars brighter, you found yourself once again overwhelmed by the beauty of the sky. Tears streamed down your face as you gazed upward, unable to contain the emotions that swelled within you.

"Spencer," you whispered, your voice trembling. "Tell me about the stars."

Spencer glanced over, concerned but gentle, and began to speak. "Well, the stars you see up there are just a fraction of what's out in the cosmos. Each one is a giant ball of gas, primarily hydrogen and helium, undergoing nuclear fusion. That fusion process is what produces the light and heat we see."

You sniffled, trying to focus on his words. "What about our star signs? Do they mean anything?"

Spencer hesitated, clearly more comfortable with scientific facts than astrological lore. "Star signs, or zodiac signs, are based on the positions of constellations relative to the Earth at the time of your birth. Some people believe these positions can influence personality traits and life events, but there's no scientific evidence to support that."

You nodded, a small smile breaking through your tears. "So you don't believe in astrology?"

He chuckled softly. "Not really. I understand why people find it fascinating, though. It's a way to connect with the universe and find patterns in our lives."

You sighed contentedly, listening to the soothing cadence of his voice as he continued to talk about the vastness of space, the life cycle of stars, and the mysteries of the cosmos. His words were like a gentle lullaby, and before long, you began to doze off, the steady rhythm of the car lulling you into sleep.

You woke up with a start as the car came to a halt. Spencer had stopped at a small, cozy hotel for the night. He stepped out to check in, and you followed suit, clutching your bag. As you exited the car, the sight of the moon and stars twinkling above brought fresh tears to your eyes. Spencer returned to find you standing there, your eyes glistening with tears as you gazed at the celestial display. He walked over, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

"It's so beautiful," you whispered, leaning into him.

"It really is," Spencer agreed, his voice soft. "And so are you."

You both stood there for a few moments longer, taking in the night sky and the sense of peace it brought. The moon cast a silvery glow over everything, and the stars seemed to dance in their celestial patterns.

Finally, Spencer yawned, and you knew it was time to head inside. "Come on," he said gently. "We should get some rest."

You nodded, feeling a mix of gratitude and exhaustion. Together, you made your way into the hotel room, where the bed looked incredibly inviting. As you settled in, you couldn't help but think about the sky, the stars, and the life growing inside you.

Spencer lay down beside you, his hand resting protectively on your bump. "Goodnight, Y/N," he whispered.

"Goodnight, Spencer," you replied, feeling a sense of calm wash over you.

A few weeks had passed since the drive back from the Midwest, where you and Spencer had marveled at the sunset and the stars. Now, you were back home, adjusting to life with your newborn son. The days were a whirlwind of feedings, diaper changes, and sleepless nights, but every moment with your baby filled your heart with joy. You had experienced some complications during childbirth, necessitating an extra day in the hospital. Spencer had been a constant presence by your side, despite his occasional disappearances. The team from the BAU had stopped by to meet your son, their newest member, and you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the love and support surrounding your growing family.

Finally back home, Spencer had something special planned. "Close your eyes," he instructed as he gently guided you towards the nursery. "I want to see your reaction."

Curious and excited, you complied, feeling Spencer's hand warmly leading you into the room. The nursery had always been cozy, with soft pastel colors and a comfortable rocking chair by the window. But as you opened your eyes, you gasped in awe.

Spencer had transformed the room into a sanctuary of comfort and wonder. The walls were adorned with shelves filled with books, plush toys, and small, handmade decorations. The curtains were drawn back, allowing the soft afternoon light to filter in and illuminate the room in a warm glow. But what truly took your breath away were the stars that adorned the ceiling. Spencer had painstakingly placed them one by one, creating a celestial canopy that twinkled softly in the dim light. It felt like stepping into a night sky, serene and magical.

"So that way, he can always see the stars at night," Spencer explained softly, his eyes reflecting the same wonder that filled your heart. 

Tears welled up in your eyes, and Spencer gently wiped them away with his thumb. "Are you okay?" he asked with a small, affectionate smile.

You shook your head, overcome with emotion. "It's... it's perfect, Spencer. Thank you."

He pulled you into a warm embrace, holding you and your son close. "I want him to grow up surrounded by love and wonder, just like you do," Spencer murmured.

You leaned into his embrace, feeling an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude. "We'll give him the best of everything," you whispered, your voice filled with determination and tenderness. “Our little astronaut.” 

[impala-dreamer]

Tourniquet - Chapter Seven

A Supernatural Dean x Reader Series Told Backwards

~Y/N has been by Dean’s side through his worst days, always there if he needs her, forever just a call away. Love is impossible to fight and more impossible to live with. Just a side character in his epic life, Y/N would give anything just to give Dean a moment’s peace.~

Please see MASTERLIST for full info/warnings/chapter links.

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works ~ Get A Custom Story

Summon All Hope

It was hard to stay away from him too long, but there was always something to do and Y/N never quite felt that she was really a part of their story. It was Sam and Dean, not Sam, Dean, and Y/N. Anyway, she had her own adventures, her own scenes to play out. Sure, she’d never brought anyone back to life or, apparently, triggered the Apocalypse, but she had some important episodes under her belt. 

In 2008, she’d helped to successfully take out a conglomerate of vampires who were kidnapping and draining virgins from across the country and selling their blood around the world to hungry monsters with deep pockets. Sometimes, they even sold the young girls fresh and alive, more of a farm to table operation. Y/N and her father put an end to that. Took a few months, but they did it, and Y/N had a few new scars to prove it. 

The end of 2009 was rough. 

After a fight with her father, Y/N had gone off on her own, driving until her old truck finally gave out in a little town outside of New Orleans. Finding the weather terrible but warm, she settled in, got a crappy little apartment, and even met someone. He had green eyes that reminded her of Dean, but that’s where the similarities ended. He was too soft, too kind. Not that Dean was unkind to her, ever, but he never showed it until the lights were out and pillows were warm. No, Travis was unlike anyone else in her life and perhaps that’s why she grew so attached. He played guitar and read books and cooked breakfast for her every morning. 

While she still hunted, the monsters seemed to be leaving her alone; that life faded into the background. She was happy, mostly. 

At night when the moon was full and the wind warm, she liked to sit in the courtyard behind her apartment building and look up at the sky. Just like in that old movie with the mice in New York City, she often wondered if Dean was looking up at the moon along with her. She wondered where he was, wondered if he was alright. Most nights she would fall asleep out there, arms wrapped around herself, mind far away with The Boy with the Green Eyes.

At the end of April, Travis vanished mysteriously right out of their bed one Tuesday night. Knowing he wouldn’t just up and leave without a word, Y/N panicked and called her father to help her search for him. 

The leads were as cold as the bed she refused to sleep in again. After a week, his body washed up in the mud along Honey Island. The coroner’s report listed the cause of death as drowning and noted the apparent exsanguination from an alligator attack, but she knew better. Those weren’t animal bites, they were retaliation.

Guilt racked her insides. If she had only been more careful, if she’d taught him about the dark side of the universe, if she’d only loved him as much as she loved-

It didn’t matter. Travis was gone and she was back on the road with her father. 

Another town, another tragedy. That was life. 

The Winchesters were never too far from her mind. In fact, her phone would often ring with a random text from Sam just checking in, or a call from Dean late at night. 

She always answered. No matter how tired, no matter how beaten down. She always took his call, always answered his texts, emails, letters. 

The letters were a little harder to deal with as they came months and sometimes years apart. She kept a P.O. Box in Lansing, Michigan, but could only check it while swinging by on jobs. At times, the box would be empty, and others, full to the brim with postcards or letters stuffed into dingy white envelopes sporting random motel names. 

She always smiled when she saw the big, heavy block letters spelling her name. 

He mostly wrote to her when he was bored, the letters full of musings about the future or weaving tales about cases they had closed. They were a tiny peek into the script of his life, and Y/N loved every one. 

The calls were less enjoyable. 

While she lived to hear his voice, ached to hear him whisper her name, the calls were never good ones. 

He called when he was at the end of his rope, when the world had beaten him so far down that the only thing he could do was crawl on his belly through the muck and bleed himself dry. He called when he was sure he was dying, when he needed to hear a voice from the past, something constant that he could rely on never leaving him like so much in his life had. He called when he was drunk and lonely, when he was laid up with a broken bone, when he was horny and no one was interested in a bruised face and ripped jeans.

Y/N was always interested, always there to listen, to hold his hand across the miles. She gave him everything she could and never asked for anything in return but to hear him laugh by the end of a call. She needed to know that he could still smile, that it wasn’t too late for him. 

It was May when he called. 

Y/N had just cleaned up after an exorcism that left her a little bit bloody and a whole lot aching. 

The phone rang while she was in the shower and she should have ignored it, but she knew who it was. Something about that ring always told her it was Dean. 

Water dripped from her hair as she answered. 

“Hey, Y/N/N.” 

His voice was deep and heavy; traces of tears lingered on his slow tongue. 

She closed her eyes, gripped the phone tight. “Dean? Hey, what’s going on?” 

“Where are you?” 

Her stomach flipped. He hadn’t asked to see her in years, hadn’t had a chance to. 

“Little motel outside of Pinecreek, Minnesota.” 

He cleared his throat and Y/N could see him in her head; the crease between his eyes deepening, the tightness of his jaw. 

“Can you meet me? I’m- uh- I’m leaving Chicago now. Headed back to Bobby’s.” 

Bobby. It’d been too long away from him as well. 

Y/N swallowed down her nerves. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. Tell me where…” 

The neon diner lights were ridiculously bright, bouncing not only out into the night, but back into the booth. Their faces were bathed in pink; half-eaten burgers glowing on their plates.

“So…” Y/N was still reeling from all the information he’d given. She believed every word, it was just hard to believe that the fate of everything laid squarely on the shoulders of that little boy with his nose in a book. 

Dean nodded solemnly. “Yeah.” 

“Wow.” 

He hummed in agreement and set his elbows on the table, hung his head between his hands. 

She didn’t know what to say, the words were still processing in her head, trying to filter their way down to her lips, but it was too much. 

“What are you gonna do?” she asked, keeping her voice as calm as she could. 

Green eyes shot up through the cave of his hands. 

“What can I do? I either end the fucking world or lose my brother.” 

Her chest ached. 

“This isn’t fair, Dean. Fuck. This isn’t fair at all.” 

He laughed under his breath. “Yeah, well, when has my life ever been fair?” 

Suddenly freezing, Y/N closed her arms around herself, shrank down into the ugly brown vinyl seat. The springs creaked and Dean lifted his head, just watching her, staring hard. 

“I know what I have to do,” he said in a gruff whisper. “But… Y/N, what if I can’t do it? What if I can’t stand there and watch him die again?”

“Again.” She laughed because it was absurd. Tears welled because it was horrifying. 

Dean smiled. 

“You know what I mean.” 

And she did, better than anyone. 

Y/N took a breath and looked away, eyeing the empty dessert display on the counter. They should have gone somewhere with pie. Damnit. 

“I know,” she said sadly. “I also know you. And I know that no matter what it takes from you, how much it kills you… You always do what you think is best. And what you think is best, is usually the right thing to do.” 

Dean sucked in a breath and sat upright, but it didn’t stop a single tear from dragging down his cheek. He swatted it away and bit his lip, clearly struggling but sure. “I know. It fucking sucks but I know.” 

Silence fell and the pair sat in the nearly empty diner, food growing cold on their plates. Y/N picked up a french fry just to have something to do but the smell of it close to her mouth made her gut churn. 

It fell back down onto the pile. Discarded, abandoned. 

Dean cleared his throat, done with the pain. 

“Wanna see something cool?” he asked, reaching into his jacket pocket. 

Y/N raised a brow. “If it’s what I’m thinking, I’ve already seen it. Also, put it away, we’re in public.” 

His cheeks glowed with a smile and a wave of relief washed over her. He would be OK. Eventually. 

“It’s not that,” he confessed. “Not yet, anyway.” 

Onto the table, he placed three ornate antique rings down in a wide triangle configuration. A fourth he kept tight in his hand. 

“What’s all this?” she asked, leaning in. 

“Rings from the Four Horsemen,” he said softly, gaze locked on the rings. 

“Of the Apocalypse?” she laughed. 

He did not. 

“Yeah. And this one belongs to Death.” He held out the ring and then placed it on the table top. “Watch.” 

He pushed the fourth ring towards the others and as if by magic, they moved on their own, coming together with a clink of metal and fusing into one piece. 

Y/N’s eyes were wide, her lips agape. “That is cool.” 

A half smile turned his mouth. “Told ya.” 

“Can I?” She reached for the rings and he nodded. They were heavy, solid, and she held it up to the pink light, examining the markings. “This is weird. What do you do with it? I assume it’s something major if you had to steal it from Death Himself.”

Dean sat back and crossed his arms. “Actually, he gave it to me.” 

Her breath stopped. “Death? You just casually met Death and he gave you his ring like you’re old buddies…” 

“We kinda are. Ish. I don’t know. He ate a lot of pizza. And he’s creepy looking.” 

She laughed. She had to. “Wow. I missed a lot.” 

Gently, he took the rings from her. He didn’t ignore, but didn’t draw attention to the spark he felt as their fingers touched. 

“This… thing… opens Lucifer’s cage. And Sam is going to jump into it, with Lucifer locked inside him.”

Y/N stayed quiet, unable to come up with anything to say. She couldn’t claim she was close to Sam, but he had always been there, a little brother on the edges of her life. It didn’t matter how deeply she felt for Sam, what mattered was how it was killing Dean to say it all out loud. How it was ripping him apart inside to have to do what he had to do. 

“Dean, I-” 

He cut her off, jamming the rings back into his pocket. He took a breath and smiled. 

“You wanna get outta here?” 

The backseat wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it was familiar. Dean laid down a blanket and then Y/N, carefully undressing her with wet kisses and calloused hands. 

She fell back against the seat, naked and chilled, waiting for him. 

The old lug nut pendant hung down between her breasts and Dean looked down in awe. 

“You still wear this old thing?” he asked, ghosting his fingers over the top of the metal.

She looked up with a loving gaze and nodded. “Of course. You gave it to me.” 

He licked his lip and shook his head. “It’s junk.” 

Her hand closed around his wrist and she tugged him down to kiss the lie out of his mouth. 

“It’s my lucky charm…” 

Morning broke with golden light and Dean stirred, smiling when he realized Y/N was snoring in his lap. Carefully, he prodded at her shoulder and she sucked in a heavy breath, waking. 

“Hey…” 

“Mornin’.” 

Y/N sat up and rubbed at her eyes. “We shoulda gotten a room.”

He chuckled softly. “Ain’t nothing we haven’t done before. Besides, my baby’s more comfy than some old germy motel bed.” 

She shrugged and cracked her neck. “Yeah. I guess so.” 

Dean swallowed hard and chewed his lip, trying to muddle through his emotions. 

Y/N peeked through her shirt as she tugged it on. “What’s wrong?” 

“I feel like an asshole sayin’ this, but… I really gotta get going. I wasn’t planning on staying the night and-”

Her heart sank just a little bit but she braved through it. Wasn’t the first time, wouldn’t be the last. 

“No…” She waved him off. “I get it. Places to go, worlds to save.” 

He stared off, past her, past the window, past the sky. Thinking, worrying, dying inside. 

Y/N took a chance. “I can come with you. I don’t know what the whole plan is, but you’re gonna need… I don’t know, support? Moral or otherwise.”

He shook his head, pursed his lips. “No.” 

She lay a hand on his knee. “Dean, you don’t have to do this alone.” 

He took a breath, closed his eyes, covered her hand with his. “I do. Don’t want to, but I have to.” 

Defeat and worry spread through her like branches. 

“Will you… will you call me when it’s done? I just… Promise you’ll call me.” 

He lifted her hand to his lips. “Of course I will.” 

His smile was short and soft, his eyes wet and dark. 

He never called. 

Tourniquet Tags:@prettyinplaid94 @winharry @muhahaha303   @cookiechipdough @ladysparkles78

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)@babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @nancymcl @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @the-wounded-healer05   

[burnbrighterthanever]

Genres of Folk Music, Baatezu Edition

Avernus

- The Tanar'ri Killed Someone I Liked/Stole My Spouse/Destroyed My Crops/Some Combination Of The Above And Now I Will Not Rest Until Every One Of The Abyssal Bastards Is Dead

- Gosh, The Archduchess Is So Cool And Heroic (I Totally Don't Have A Lesbian Crush On Her)

- I Went To War And I Now Understand Death And I Would Like To Go Home Now

- The Mine Is Full Of Monsters That Might Or Might Not Be A Metaphor For The Boss, And Now We Need To Unionize

- Remember Tiamat? Yeah, She Sure Was A Bitch

Dis

- I'm So Lost And I Can't Find My House

- The Archduke Could Use Some Prozac

- I Went Out For A Drink, Got Lost, And Went On An Adventure (And I Still Want That Drink)

- We're Building A Road And The Boss Can't Decide Where He Wants It (Please Make Up Your Mind, We Are So Tired)

- I Went To The Gardens And Got My Back Blown Out

Minauros

- I Lost My Stuff In The Mud

- The Archduke Stole My House

- There's A Monster In The Bog And That's Why I'm Late Again

- This Is A Cautionary Tale About The Perils Of Unchecked Greed

- I Forgot My Umbrella And I Regret Everything

Phlegethos

- The Most Pedantic Argument You've Ever Heard, Set To A Catchy Tune

- The Archdukes Have Been Fighting For The Last Nine Hours And I Would Really Like To Get A Coffee About Now

- I Bathed In Hellfire And Was Born Anew, And I'm Really Feeling That Gender Euphoria

- This Person Inconvenienced Me And Now We Must Settle This In A Court Of Law Like Asmodeus Intended

Stygia

- I Caught A Fish And It Was This Big

- The Archduke Is Still Stuck In An Ice Cube, If Anyone Cares

- I Went Fishing And A Shark Tried To Eat Me (Sekolah, If You're Listening To This, Fuck You)

- Song About How Cool The Archduke Is Censored To The Point Where It's Unclear Who Was The Archduke At The Time When This What Written

Malbolge

- The Gardens Are Beautiful And They Will Kill You (Just Like My Lover)

- Gosh, The Archduchess Is So Cool And Powerful (I Totally Don't Have A Lesbian Crush On Her)

- Ow, A Boulder Fell In My Head

- This Song Is About Going Walking In The Swamp (Totally Not An Overwrought Metaphor For Sex)

- Remember The Hag Countess? Yeah, We Like Her Better As A Feature Of Geography.

Maladomini

- I'm High On Gughalaki Right Now And Everything Is Great

- Is The Archduke A Slug Or Not? We're Too Scared To Check

- I Went To The Carnival Eternal And Got My Back Blown Out

- I Know We Live In The City Of Ruins, But Seriously, Stop Throwing Your Trash In The Street, We're Not Fucking Tanar'ri

Cania

- My Love Left Me And Now My Life Is As Cold As The Wind

- The Archduke's Experiments Blew Up My House

- I Am Romantically In Love With The Ocean

- We're Going Whaling! We're Going To Catch- Oh Fuck, The Whale Fought Back And Now Everything Hurts

- I Will Kill This Fucking Whale If It's The Last Thing I Do

- The Exact Plot Of Doctor Faustus But It's Described Like It's A Romcom

Nessus

- Remember The Calamity? That Was Fun, We Should Do It Again Sometime

- The Lord Of The Hells Did Nothing Wrong Ever And We Love Him

- This Song Is About Pomegranates And Is Totally Not An Overwrought Sexual Metaphor

- The Prime Deities Can Get Fucked

- The Lord Of The Hells Sure Has Some Intricate Rituals Going On With His Chosen, And I'm Too Scared To Find Out More

[kykyonthemoon]

Dream 9451

Prison is when you have to live in darkness and yearn for what you never had.

He was a traveler from year 9451 to meet her, the girl who had died before he existed.

❀ Rafayel x OC/MC | AU

❀ This story was based on a dream that I had after a day in this game. Hence, there's a cliffhanger.

❀ L&D Masterlist

𝑳𝒖𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒆

Afternoon sunlight penetrated through the open window frame. The curtains were blown by the wind and disturbed above the small bed. Leaning on the edge of the bed, with her body sliding to the floor and her head nestled on the soft duvet was Lucielle. 

It was late afternoon, well past one o'clock. She covered her shoulders with her purple-purple pastel headphones and massaged her eyes. A nonchalant exhale escaped from her lips. A rather significant heat was coming from the laptop that was open on her lap, indicating many hours of continuous work.

As soon as she turned off the laptop and set it aside, Lucielle's phone vibrated again. She reached for it and picked it up:

"I'm here."

On the other end of the line came the voice of her best friend Cery:

"Hey, meet me at the mall later, okay?"

"At the shopping mall, or at the claw machines area?" Lucielle asked with a chuckle. She knew that her friend had invited her there only because the girl had her eyes on a guy who would show up at the arcade often lately.

"You know it! Shall we meet at three o'clock?"

"Sounds good... But I'm a little tired..." 

Sniffing Lucielle's intention to retreat, Cery said immediately:

"Let's go. I've read your tarot for today. Undoubtedly, you would meet the destiny of your life there. So you must come! Don't let fate slip out of your hand."

"Absolutely." Lucielle replied with a laugh. "Your tarot cards never say anything good about my love life."

"They do, this time!" Cery gave a solid reply. "I'll see you at the entrance then!"

Lucielle could only agree. It's good to hang out once in a while. She had spent too much time sitting in her room getting her work done. And it was another day off. While others were out on dates, or having fun with friends, she chose to lull in her room for the day.

Lucielle was just an ordinary office worker, living in a tiny apartment full of plush toys that she had won from claw machines. Besides from work, she just hung around at home holding her computer or phone, or spent time and pennies on claw machines at the arcade. Sometimes she got bored and really lonely, but in any case, life still went on. She did not have big ambitions. She just stood outside of this ever changing life, watching others live theirs, as if she was just an observer.

Perhaps all she was waiting for was a magical adventure. An encounter by chance. Something only happened once in a lifetime.

Alternatively, it could be that her wishful thinking came from having read and watched far too much fiction. 

She reflected on what Cery had just said, about meeting her destiny today. Then she laughed at her nonsense thoughts. The fate Cery refers to may be a special edition plushie. If so, that would be nice.

It was more than three o'clock in the afternoon. Lucielle stood under a tree outside the building rebuilt from the old structure. What was now the city's largest commercial building nonetheless held remnants of the past. That's how Linkon was — a modern place where the past met the present. Lucielle impatiently glanced at the watch before shifting her gaze to both sides of the wide road ahead of her.

She did not see Cery. But Lucielle's attention was drawn to someone at once. On the opposite side on the same sidewalk, a slender figure stood out from the crowd. Dark curls tinged with purple glow intertwined, resting down his brow and eyes were firmly looking in her direction. Lucielle let go of a heartbeat. The whole street froze and the only thing moving was the stranger's footsteps heading in this direction.

He came to a halt in front of Lucielle. The thin lips curled up into a smile. If someone had painted a dream, it would be exactly like this. Because this was so unreal. Why would there be such a perfect shaped person? Lucielle only dared to look up once, and their eyes met. 

"There you are!"

A soft voice spoke, drowning out all the noise in the street, birds singing in the trees and rustling leaves. It was as if the only sound in the universe. Lucielle was perplexed. This was a man she had never seen before, but he gave the impression that he had known her for a long, long time.

Just as she was about to say something, Lucielle heard a loud call of her name from another side. Turning her head, she caught sight of Cery walking happily towards her.

Lucielle raised a hand to wave. Then when she returned to the stranger earlier, he was long gone.

"How long did you wait? Today's bus was running a little late." Cery moved over to stand beside her. "But... What are you looking at?"

"Nothing..." Lucielle shook her head and said. "I’ve just met a very strange person..."

Lucielle paused. How could she put it into words; that she had just met a picturesque beauty?; that he had just vanished without a trace in a split second? She must have been dizzy and she blamed all the milk coffee she had had for the day. 

She took another glance at the street, before stepping inside the building in deep thought.

𝑹𝒂𝒇𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒍

Rafayel darted a gaze across the busy street, where sunlight fell alternately through the foliage, covering her with a soothing aura. 

He had found her. In the world where she was truly alive.

Rafayel's mind was as deep as the ocean. Somewhere in the raging waves laid the memory of another land. In that place, she slept soundly, for eternity. 

Year 9451,

After a series of catastrophic disasters many millennia ago, the entire world was submerged in seawater.

A new species appeared. They resembled humans but possessed fish tails, with strength and longevity far exceeding those of humans. They were Lemurians.

Humanity entered a new life form. They drifted into slumber inside peculiar cocoons kept in the lowest depths of the ocean. In anticipation of the day the human eventually awoke, the Lemurians watched over them.

However, nobody had ever awakened. The cocoons that the ocean cherished for thousands of years began to rot, eventually dying out. 

Those humans’ eyes would never be able to open again…

*

* *

Reaching out to the glass, Rafayel removed the black seaweed that was holding the cocoon in place. They purposefully obscured the lovely sleeping girl who was drifting in an oceanic dream. He brushed the moss off the metal board attached to the cocoon to the side.

Lucielle Caelum

81000xxxxxx

Her face was pale, but relaxed as if she were just taking a long nap. Not a scratch, unscathed by the outer world. She was the best preserved specimen that the Lemurians had recovered from an ancient natural disaster.  And she was one of the humans placed in Rafayel’s care here.

Rafayel approached the cocoon until his nose came into contact with the glass. He had been to this place thousands and thousands of times, watching her fall asleep and sketching her dreams. Perhaps she was dreaming of the world in which she had lived, where people could walk with two feet on the ground. Little did she know, what awaited her when she woke up was the darkness of the ocean. 

Rafayel consequently created innumerable illustrations of the lands, or stories that he had learned about the ancient world. When she woke up, she would see them. She herself would tell him her story before slipping into this never-ending slumber. Rafayel allowed himself the autonomy to envisage her life, her family, her friends. He was daydreaming of a Lucielle he had not ever met.

For millennia when his eyes were only on her, Rafayel had fallen in love.

Yet, despite all their attempts to awaken humans, the Lemurians never succeeded. Eventually, the cocoons were unable to support the inhabitants within.They collapsed, and the tide carried the frail human bodies away, transforming them into bubbles that soared skyward, as though their souls yearned to rise above the waves once more. One after another, slowly, they were all gone.

Except for this only left.

"There is nothing we can do for humans anymore."

"They are too fragile for the world today."

"Let’s give up..."

The Lemurians voiced. But Rafayel, and he alone, had not given up. He assembled a group of other distinguished Lemurians and constructed a machine, before it was too late.

"Must you do this, Lord Rafayel?"

"Lemurian cannot be without a leader. Please reconsider your decision!"

"There is instability with this machine. Once you go back to the past, chances are you won't be able to return here..."

The discussions echoed across the vast sea as they carried on. Rafayel was adamant, though. Prison is when you have to live in darkness and yearn for what you never had. Going back to when it all began and preventing that event of doom was the only way. No matter how dangerous it was, he had to give it a try.

On the day of his departure, he came to see her one last time. 

The cocoon that held her did not last much longer. Having to watch her vanish was as if watching himself die. Rafayel's slender hand touched her face behind the glass as he said farewell.

"I'll find you."

And then, he went. The gears of the machine turned, forming countless rolling waves, and then the ocean disappeared. She disappeared.

*

* *

He found her in the third millennium. As vivid as his dream came true.

There were only three hundred and sixty-four days remaining before her world began to crumble.

-The End?-

[plasmasimagination]

Heyy girl hows it goingg! Congrats on ur amazinggg milestone. Totally deserved 🪼🪼 I was wondering if i cld get a matchup for genshin and hsr ! I totally loved the others u did.

I go by the she series and id love to be matched up w a hot man 🤤 my mbti is enfp and im a gemini! Im around 5’3 with tan skin and hv super grown out long dyed brown hair. I have 8 piercings total on my ears and i know im gna cop more next summer bless up. I wld say i def have a more summer oriented aesthetic i loveee me a tank top n shorts and bikini.

Im not surr what kind of personality i have .. but i think im a freak. I love to party nd go out w my friends obviii but i absolutely love spending time by myself bc im chill like dat. I think im pretty funny but i also follow my heart a lil too much and do whatever i want when i want, so i cant set boundaries w myself.. im def tryna work on that and have a healthy grindset and balance. Im down to do anything w my friends BUT im also a lil bit of bitch ngl… a lil bit of a hater if i see some weird activity in front if me

I love the beach and summer and drives with loud music playinggg. My ideal day is a warm summer day on the beach with some Js and scrolling thru the x reader tag on tumblr on my ipad.

My interests are surfing and paddleboardinf!! Im super into gymming and looking up wikipedia horror movie summaries. Im pursuing health rn too 😜 and i try to write in my free time but it never works out LOL. I also love thrifting and flea markets and im down to rage if u are 🤙

If i had a short life id probably honestly spend it at home w the fam and w my dog and w all my friends. Id love to do some epic in state road trips or have bonfires by the beach. i think itd be sick to be surrounded by all the simple things i love.

When it comes to my love life…. Erm… i definitely can be attracted SO easily but im quick to find icks tbh. I dont think i fall in love easily but i definitely get high on the possibility of it. Lets just say im hard to get and hard to want 😈 My ideal type is someone whos athletic and good at math and is FINE AF. My lovr language is quality time (i LOVE ft) so someone whos willing to do stuff w me is a plus. I think i also like someone who can match my speed and humor bc i hate miscommunication and awkwardness

Thanku sm if u decide 2 do my req! ⭐️⭐️

Hello there fellow darling >:)

As for your request, I would say I found just the right manz for you, but i didn't, so work with them a bit and they'll be vibing with u in no time(ㅠ﹏ㅠ)

So let's go

.

.

.

AL HAITHAM

Smart collected calm and rational, just to balance you out

introvert x extrovert

He's definitely impressed by your carefree attitude, and often gets dragged into your small adventures, he might complain around a bit but he doesn't mind as much as he says he does

Hes confused as to how you have the energy to go out to parties and surfing and everything, he's just way too tired to even think about such things, so he'll prefer to watch you from the distance, in the comfort of a chair and a good book

Listen listen, I know I know, he's pissy and awkward, but I like to think he wouldn't be like that in a relationship, and is actually very good at communication and explaining his struggles and emotions

It might take him a bit to trust you but when he does, he's a good partner

He might not be able to match your humour, but he can match your speed, he's very efficient.

And if that relationship doesn't work out, do try with kaveh, because that could work out more (and yes i did just recommend to get with with your matchups roommate)

MR.RATIO

Nerd x his cool partner

This one is more to match your vibe kind off

He's a sassy and confident dude

He'll definitely be a fan of your bitchy attitude , he likes dealing with bests

Can match your energy, occasionally, sometimes not sometimes yes, but most of the time he'll just follow you around and watch you do your hobbies and interests while reading something

Cold colour dressed boyfriend x summer dressed partner, just perfection

He's an ambivert after all, so he can keep up with your trips and enjoyments, but sometimes will distance himself off to a corner to recharge his energy

Generally he's the first that came to mind when I saw your request so consider it fate

[thebunnylord]

Human ttte road trip headcanons:

Thomas: loves road trips, doesn’t have a schedule, or a plan, spends most of the road-trip with his head out the window.

Edward: likes to travel with company and just talk about life.

Henry: always takes the scenic route, has to stop and take a picture of the scenery, will pull over to take pictures of wildlife.

Gordon: likes to drive fast, gets a speeding ticket every time.

James: radio blaring, windows down, causes the biggest ruckus he can make, also forgets the map and gets lost and spends more time getting ready for the road trip than actually going on a road trip.

Percy: gets very car sick very easily. Needs to pee every mile.

Toby: just likes to take it slow and enjoy the road, drives so slow that he creates a whole line of traffic behind him because old man at the wheel. Also needs to stop at every sheep he sees.

Duck: has a strict schedule, no stops, “oh you have to pee? Too bad we’re not stoping”, hates riding with Toby and backseat drives when he isn’t driving. Has to stop at the beach every time.

Oliver: goes off on an “adventure”, gets lost, and has to back track.

Donald and Douglas: their car has broken down in the middle of nowhere.

Emily and the other girls: blasts pop music at full volume, sunglasses on and out, they are off for a good time, oh crap, they left someone behind.

Bill and Ben: Bill steers while Ben works the pedals before breaking out into an argument over who’s driving, end up in a car crash. Also forgets their spare tire, gas, map, snacks, water, and everything you need for a road trip

Diesel: pure concentrated road rage.

Bertie: is the only normal driver here, until her challenges Thomas to a race.

George: is the road construction that causes traffic to be back up for miles and when one of the drivers honks their horn, he will go up to them, and flip them off.

Skarloey: old man driving 2.0, can’t see over his dashboard and drives so slow that he causes traffic to be backed up for miles.

Stephen: is in the passenger seat with Skarloey talking smack about how everyone nowadays drives. Is also a nursing home escapee

Glynn: is also in the same car yelling at every car who honks at them to calm down. Had also escaped the nursing home with Stephen and are now on the run.

Rheneas: is in the same car sleeping.

Duncan: is in the same car cussing and yelling at every single car that passes them, backseat driving galore, reaches over to honk the horn, and has to listen to the rock station before Skarloey finally pulls over and makes Duncan get out of the car, and drives off.

Duke: went inside the gas station store to get a snack and was left behind.

Millie: is searching for Stephen and Glynn.

[onndough]

Sanji x reader (gn)

Note: I wrote this a super long time ago so there might be some inconsistency. Besides all of that enjoy :)

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sanji x reader (gender neutral)

Another mundane week had passed, you wake up everyday preparing yourself for work, paying bills, and serving your civil duties. When all of that wasn’t on the plate, then living out the rest of your time doing whatever could keep your mind occupied from the undying boredom and dread that came with such a stagnant lifestyle was something to think about; the repetitive routine started draining your motivation and it brought sadness, as well as something new that you hadn’t felt,

loneliness.  

Time skip a couple of weeks 

The evening had just come so that meant you were finally off the clock from your shitty job; certifying docuements wasn’t even as terrible as you made it out to be but the people take 10 years off your life yet you can’t leave or demand better because this routine and lifestyle has become too comfortable for anything to change, nothing could possibly interfere and turn your world around, then again would you even want change? 

The loud music across the street had been bashing against your ears whilst you strolled along the stone roads, the scene was something you lived through everyday but tonight was particularly tiring as you had to read reports on a bunch of criminals going into islands nearby and causing chaos whenever they went, some of the locals have been spreading rumors that the criminals are pirates who steal from stores and kill government officials… whatever any of that meant. 

As you passed the stores that lined the main square you decided to distress a bit in one of the cafes you frequented, you just got paid 2 days ago so might as well drown your sunken soul in some sugar. 

Entering the store felt like visiting someone as you were hit with the familiar scent of coffee beans and cleaning supplies, it’s just like your office except it’s slightly better since you get to spend money here, well maybe it’s the same. Ordering the usual made it feel like you were complying with your routine so being a bit adventurous with a drink is something you could change, you ordered a rainbow swirl sugar cookie drink that looked like it came out of a unicorns ass. As you pulled your wallet out to pay the stranger next to you made a sly comment: 

“Thats an interesting choice for a man like you to order, although, a certain reindeer I know would enjoy that drink so maybe it’s good.” 

A reindeer? This guy is friends with animals? Than again you have a cat who you speak to like your best friend so whatever. You decide in your lonely state to strike up a conversation: 

“Oh you have a pet as well? I’ve never heard of someone with a reindeer but it sounds like your friend is a lot of fun” 

The stranger grins at you and starts laughing, you may be dull when it comes to your habits but maybe you still know how to make someone laugh, at least that’s whatthis stranger made you think. While he was laughing himself to death over the pet comment you take the time to look at his features; he had an attractive face with nice eyebrows, his hair covered one of his eyes but that didn’t cover how beautiful his other eye was when he laughed, his stature was relaxed and he dressed fairly well although it seemed like he got roughed up a bit, perhaps he’s a troublemaker or he has some enemies who knows. 

You start to drift off and dream about what this man did in his free time, who was he to the people around him, is he sweet? Good at anything? Does he have anybody that’s waiting for him? What if he’s one of those criminals that’s going around stealing and killing people and now hes at this shop ready to kill everyone before running away with all their mo- well he is kind of attractive so maybe that’s oka– wait no what. 

It takes a few moments for you to compose yourself from your thoughts about this random man, you realise that everything you’ve conjured up in your mind is probably not true, you just met him and you don’t even know his name; although you didn’t know anything about him you still couldn’t shake the feeling of attraction away, deep in thought about a random shop goer was something so typical of you, maybe you were lonelier than you thought… 

“Hey so what would you recommend here? I’m new around here and I figured you were a local so anything good you like?”

You snapped out of it and whipped your head towards the man, he was looking at the menu but also looking at you, wow he is so hot. Giving him a short “let me think about it” you wanted to impress him so it took some time looking at him and over analysing to consider your options, he seemed like someone who would have an overcomplicated order but would enjoy something as simple as mineral water… maybe something fruity:

“Maybe the blueberry lemonade, it’s pretty warm outside so that might help with the heat, it’s also pretty good but what do you think?” 

The man gave you a soft smile and seemed to like your suggestion. He ordered it and even offered to pay for your drink which made your heart do a little jump but you refused, you glanced over at your usual spot and asked if he wanted to join you which he agreed to. You both sat down before the man started asking a few questions about you and began introductions. 

“By the way my name is Sanji, I realised I never told you that but I figured you seemed pretty nice” 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Sanji, I’m _____. So are you visiting this island for anything in particular or just vacationing?” 

“Nothing much, just traveling with a few friends… or you could say crew mates” 

Crew mates..? What is he some traveling merchant? Or maybe a pirate.. There have been some rumors that pirates were spotted around the area. He looks too civil to be a pirate but you can never trust a book by its cover. 

“Well Sanji welcome to the island, I’m sure your friends are having a nice time, this place is kind of known for its vacationing spots. Have you gone—” 

Before you could finish your question you heard a loud BOOM outside

Both you and Sanji look out one of the windows near your seat and find a crowd had gathered near the entrance of the main square, it looked like they were surrouonding someone/a group of people; they seemed to be yelling at them. 

Sanji looks over at you and smiles before saying

“I guess thats my que to start leaving, my crewmates seem to be causing some problems” 

He places some money on the table and gives you a wink before swiftly exiting the building, but not before blowing you a kiss while pushing past the door. 

You felt your heart beat faster as you look down at your drink than over at his finished one, it was definitely an unforgettable experience but you didn’t know how to react. As you start to calm down a little you look at the money he left and realised there was a little note tucked between the bills, it read:

“If we ever meet again you should tell me more about what drinks you like, maybe I could make one for you,

Until next time- Sanji <3” 

You suddenly felt your heart jump out of your chest and you swore it flew to another island. 

[theknightmarket]

This is like the most random concept to probably ever come to me so out of the blue, you don't have to do it if you don't want to, but also I feel like if anyone could make something interesting out of this it'd be you. (love your fics btw<3)

So like, Illinois, with his whole knock-off Indiana Jones bullshit, with an s/o who's similarly akin to James Bond...….yeah idk either, man- You can come up with whatever action movie plot, or maybe just some domestic fluff with comically abrupt fight scenes sprinkled in cus that's just how chaotic I imagine their life would be. It's entirely up to you. I am very tired rn.

“Berlin, 1996.”

In which Illinois and his partner – in more than one sense – relive their meeting.

TW: cursing, blood, drug use, general mature themes

Pages: 12 – Words: 5,000

[Requests: OPEN]

The distant sizzle of waffle batter on a pan was the first thing you recognised when you woke in your bed. The smell of coffee wafting from the same place was the second, and the third, while a strange sensation to anyone else, was comforting to you. Your dog lapping at your hand that dangled over the side of the bed had you shaking yourself from the fuzzy grip of sleep. It was going to be a long and laborious process considering the amount of work you’d had for the last week, but this was finally a day that you could spend doing whatever you wished – which, right now, looked a lot like following the sweet scent of breakfast into the kitchen.

Moriarty led the way, the beautiful puppy, although actually a six-year-old Belgian Malinois, whom you had adopted a few years back. He had never liked many of your friends, and you trusted his nose enough to follow his advice. Sure, it might have seemed weird to take social cues from a canine, but he hadn’t steered you wrong yet. Whether it was a Russian spy you’d accidentally offered coffee to, or the smuggler who moved in down the road, Moriarty told you when people were off, and that just happened to be most of those you came in contact with. You’d long since given up making connections when the tenth potential acquaintance had turned out to be the head of some mafia you’d never even heard of. 

And then imagine your surprise when you finally brought home someone he liked. 

And your further surprise when he stayed the night, and then the morning, and then a week, and then a month, a year, and so on, until you should have been asking him for rent. All the while, Moriarty hadn’t made a peep, leaving you to your devices with this new and, for lack of a better term, strange fellow.

“Morning, gorgeous!” 

Speak of the devil and he may appear. 

That ‘devil’, affectionate, of course, was none other than the infamous Illinois Jones. A man chased by many, found by few, and held onto by only the luckiest of the lot. You were one of these people, aware that you had him in the palm of your hand, and you thanked him routinely in the morning with a kiss on the cheek for staying. 

The clock on the oven flashed a sharp 08:41, an unusual time for Illi to be awake at, but you weren’t complaining. Your job was stressful; you were sure that any doctor would tell you to quit immediately with how often your blood pressure spiked, so you treasured these couple of moments when you were given a break. Your partner had an on-and-off relationship with missions, the things he preferred to call adventures, but he had a likewise relationship with the agency itself. He had a habit of running off to foreign lands without permission, looking for trouble and finding it, too. You wouldn’t mind it, had it not been for your unfortunate love of the man that drew you after him, like a dog on a leash. In the meantime, a good rest was well deserved, now that you were back in the comfort of your own home after an unexpected visit to Guyana. 

Plus, he looked damn good in boxers and an apron. 

You lazily wrapped your arms around his waist, unintentionally distracting him from the food he was preparing, and muttered into his neck, “G’morning.”

“If you want breakfast, you’re gonna have to let me cook, babe,” he laughed, though that didn’t stop him from leaning back into you. 

Your only response was a muffled groan. It wasn’t your fault that you were so touchy-feely today. Work took up most of the daylight, and upkeep stole the rest away. The only time you really got together was in the late hours of the night when twilight would draw a sheet of privacy over the two of you and leave you alone. The stars would dance together, fireflies entertained themselves and you could just be together. Forgive yourself if you wanted to savor the minutes. 

Alas, you couldn’t stay at Illinois’ side forever. You’d have to come out of hiding eventually, and now was as good a time as any, so you drowsily shuffled towards the front door. The rusted latches groaned with a mere press of your hand, swinging open with an inching pace. Immediately, a gust of dry air trampled past your face, and the faint smell of dust had you sighing more than breathing. It was a classic Louisiana morning, something you haven’t experienced in a long time – not for a lack of breaks. No, although your recent schedule has been clogged, this quant place was a safe house paid for by the agency, meaning it wasn’t only yours to begin with. It was difficult to get used to using the same amenities that a stranger had just a few days ago, in a room that had a tagline of ‘safe’, but you got over it. It just meant that sanitizing every surface was the chore of the first day. 

Illinois didn’t have those reservations; the second that he stepped out of the truck, he declared it home, and went on the search for a good cave. He only agreed to come over camping in the wilderness because of the free food. Or, at least, that’s what he said. There was a small part of you that was sure it was because he didn’t want to be alone, you having no chance to agree on tents – and there was a big part of him that knew you were right. 

You laughed to yourself, pulling a porch chair into the orange sunlight. Being a safe house, it was surrounded by the thickest stretch of trees in the state and, even further, lakes and rivers that made it looked untouched by human hands. The second day had been spent exploring nature together. Illinois tugged you by your hand through bushes, over boulders, underneath a couple fallen trees, all the way to the perimeter of the land. From atop a small cliff, you could see the start of urbanization, but it was sheltered by a haze of smog and lights. The city stayed alight until well into midnight and beyond, like a dying campfire, only to be fed at the crack of dawn. 

A similar flicker of a flame shot into the air in front of you. 

The metal of your lighter was calming, the grooves of the ingrained letters basing you in the present. ‘Berlin, 1996’ was written in small italic near the lever, making it unlikely for you to ever resist the temptation of running your fingers over the markings. It made you smile and, from time to time, had the added benefit of you putting the lighter back in your pocket. This was not one of those times, but a grin did spread over your lips, nonetheless. 

The flicker met the end of a cigarette, which you promptly pulled towards your mouth when it took the flame. Illinois didn’t like the fact that you smoked, he always said how he wanted to be fit in his 90s, but you weren’t cheering for him when he jumped 20 feet down for the fun of it either. The compromise you came to was that both of you would continue to indulge the devils on your shoulders and could laugh at the other’s funeral if they died first. 

In all honesty, it was not a situation that you liked to be in. The constant, looming cloud of loss scared you more than any danger the agency put you in ever could. Nights spent waiting for Illinois to come home, the fear that time would go by, and the sun would rise and set again, and the door wouldn’t open… it was damn-near paralyzing. The only thing that kept you going, ironically enough, was that same man. At least, if you went on the same jobs that he did, you could keep an eye on him. You would know what kind of danger he was in, and you had the chance to stop it. The question was: would you be fast enough?

You took another drag of your cigarette.

“You shouldn’t smoke, y’know.” The porch crackled as Illinois stepped onto the wooden planks. “It’s not good for you.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

A light-hearted chuckle brushed against your ear, accompanied by the click of his boots and humming of cicadas. The deep sound stopped when he swung another chair next to yours. As he came into view, you saw he had replaced his apron with a simple, loose shirt that fell from him like a woman who had fainted in distress. To catch Illinois in a shirt that actually fit him would be to kill the king – impossible and, according to him, a crime punishable by death. 

“You know,” he spoke up, “you don’t look like the rumors.”

Your head unconsciously twisted to the side, so that you could see Illinois only slightly better. His own gaze was fixated in the distant spread of trees. Questions as to what he was starting at batted against you, but you settled on making a curious noise, instead. 

“When we first met, I thought you’d lied to me. I’d heard all these stories about a suave, collected, expert of a heartbreaker, and then…”

“They were proved incorrect?”

He took in a steady breath. “No. They were proved, uh, very correct. Actually, after hearing about you, I kinda,” he coughed, as though that would transfer his thoughts directly to you and take away the need to say the words, “made some assumptions that were not as correct.” 

Illinois prided himself on being right most of the time – and expressed himself as being right all of the time. However, this was one of the only things that he would admit he was wrong about, this being you. The image he had conjured of you was snide and snobby, only in it for themself and with the biggest case of holier-than-thou syndrome he’d ever thought of. Those stories of you driving fancy cars had pushed him into a corner, trapped by a cage of disgust and partial envy. Then, the rumors of how many people you had seduced worked their magic, followed by a notorious habit of smoking and drinking, which designated you, though he perished the thought now, a scumbag. 

But when he’d actually met you…

“And I’m, uh, glad they weren’t.” 

He swung an arm around your chair, drew rough fingers across your collarbone and directed your jaw into facing him. The light breeze shifted your hair like a lover’s touch, and the yellow sun decorated you like a bespoke artwork. Something he’d steal from a museum if he had to, but, no, he had you sitting right in front of him, with the quirk of an eyebrow and a small smile on your lips. He was lucky, he knew that, and he thanked his lucky stars every time he woke up next to you in sparkling mornings, every time your hands brushed when he pulled you up from a ledge, every time your eyes met from across a ballroom. 

The first time that happened was still something he treasured more than any bespoke jewel or painting. 

“Let’s get this business started.”

The night was young, the guests were pleasantly tipsy, and you were perched at one of the centre tables, next to three attractive models and the focus of your attention. 

At this moment, you and your company were in the Berlin Operetta House, a classic establishment with smoke and liquor running through its veins. You had joined in – for lack of anything better to do while biding your time – and had been seated with these four the last two hours. The women you had no information on, except for what you had observed in the time given, most of which boiled down to being pretty faces for the big guy sitting across from you. 

Earnest Whimson, dramatic irony demanding repentance of his parents as he was anything but earnest. He’d made his living on buying and selling anything he could get him tobacco-stained hands on, be it stolen goods, illegal drugs, or people themselves. It was a desolate trade, rotten but protected by the wallets of the people at the top. In those cases, there was only one person the authorities would routinely turn to. 

You. 

The authorities, the uncorrupted minorities, would plead with your agency for help, and you were the first person on the list. Call it luck or honed skill, you didn’t care. What you did care about was getting the job done in a quick and efficient manner. These places weren’t good to stay in for more than a day, lest you want to gain a certain reputation in all of the sectors. Thus, speed was top billing this night. That, and types like Whimson made it hard to keep your cover with the way he was talking. 

Luckily for you, nine o’clock was rearing its head, the lights were dimming and only a few people were left still chatting over their expensive dining. All eyes were directed towards the stage with fervor, those who didn’t know what was happening watching in piqued interest and those who did waiting with bated breath for the real show to begin.

You did know what was happening, you were indeed waiting, but your breaths were slow and steady, like a smooth rock in a brook. The plan was simple; starting at nine, you’d watch Whimson, make friendly banter with him while he bid on whatever items caught his eye. When he inevitably would call out a ludicrous amount of money for a bejeweled crown or statue and the night comes to a close, you’d excuse yourself and make your way to where that thing was located, wait for Whimson, and kindly dispatch the man before anyone could catch wind of what happened. The money he had taken out the few hours before would go to any witnesses, and you’d get back home in time for a smoke and martini.

Simple. 

Except your life had to be hard, didn’t it? You couldn’t just have a plan and stick to it, without something going wrong. Why? You didn’t know. If it had to do with karma or just bad luck, you didn’t know. A pity, really, when it would have made it so much easier to fix it if you did. It almost made you laugh, the thought of what a normal, easy mission was like. 

And the things that went wrong never stayed the same. In one instance, you’d find your getaway driver with a bullet through his skull – in another, your target was informed of your mission and managed to get away – sometimes, it was just raining. 

Right now, the thing that went wrong was something that had never happened before. 

That thing being the infamous Illinois Jones. 

Not even half an hour into the auction, and yet this man, adorned in an open, off-white shirt and multiple belts, was leaping onto the wooden slats. Your jaw would have been on the ground had it not been for the table, if not for his bravado, then for his stupidity. The artifact Whimson had bid on – go figure, a bejeweled crown – slotted nicely into his hand as he snatched it from its marble pedestal, shocking the woman presenting it into stumbling back. A wink was sent her way, she ran off, and Illinois turned to the audience. 

You listened as he spoke. You sat quietly, pretending that you were shocked, when, in reality, you were seething. The boiling of your blood was louder than the whispering of the bidders, and you found yourself restraining the urge to run up there and slap him for ruining your mission. Questions preoccupied your mind while he lectured the guests about the importance of culture and integrity. Why him - why now?! He wasn’t even a part of the agency, he shouldn’t have known about this bid, and yet there he was, like a smug reaper coming to steal your soul into hell. Did he even know you were there? Did it matter to him?

You only noticed Illinois had stopped talking when he swiveled on the heel of his boot, presumably struck a pose, and then stalked off the stage. Everyone was in such a shock that they didn’t stop him, at least, not at first. After a few seconds had passed for people to gain their composures, that was the cue for havoc to befall the room. Illinois had single-handedly converted an organization of logical, fat cats into a daycare for screaming toddlers; suited men pushed themselves away from tables and darted down the hallways, bodyguards unequipped their guns and set about searching for the adventurer, while some of the wives, understandably, stayed to sip on white wine. You would very much join them if it weren’t for Whimson leaning over to his personal bouncer to whisper in his ear. 

“Get the street rat.”

You sighed and took a final swig of your drink. Illinois was a menace, sure, but you weren’t willing to let him die for his ignorance. The agency may have applauded you as you returned, but you had maintained something of a moral compass during your work, so you liked to think you wouldn’t let him die like this. As you said, the man was infamous, and infamous people would not find their ends at the hands of a capitalist bastard’s lapdogs. 

The clink of your glass against the wooden table did not draw Whimson’s attention, but, if it had, he might have been able to avoid the bullet that wedged itself into his skull. You had aimed for his temple, and you were a brilliant shot. The smoke of your pistol camouflaged itself into the ceiling’s belt of fog. Cigarettes, similar to the one you now pulled out from a pocket to light. This job was not only stressful, it was stress. No mission could be easy, no day could go according to plan, and no panicked mob of refined guests could leave the building in an orderly fashion. People swarmed to the exits at the sound of the gunshot, tripping over one another and abandoning their guests to, presumably, your slaughter. 

You took a drag of your cigarette, pressed it between your lips, and gathered the suit jacket that had been on the back of your chair. Movements slow and deliberate, it was a wonder how the guard dogs Whimson had sent to Illinois hadn’t turned around yet to catch you. Good for you, but stupid on their part. Nevertheless, you were out of the manic tide of bidders before they could even realise their owner was slumped against the mahogany, brain matter splayed on his dress shirt. 

The sound of clicking dress shoes amidst the cacophony of panic sent leftover guests into hiding, with the thought that anyone that calm in the sea of chaos was in control of the situation, and that anyone who wouldn’t do anything to stop it was not to be messed with. This gave you the perfect path towards your new target. Calling out Illinois’ name was unnecessary, given you could already hear distant shots echoing down the hallways. 

And when you came to the end, asking where those gunshots were meant to hit was also unnecessary. 

The wall behind Illinois was pepped with holes, like a coral beach, while Whimson’s bodyguards looked relatively unharmed. From your position, it looked like Illinois was doing everything he could to dodge the bullets, and nothing to actually fight back. Putting your cigarette out on a recently polished cabinet, you delved into the fray. 

The first man down was yours, with an ornamental vase smashed against his skull, the kind of ones only used for grasping at when someone’s strangling you, but they still worked well to knock him out. Next down was his friend, who charged at you with intent to kill, but a shard of the broken porcelain stuck in his throat sent him to the ground. Blood trickled from the cut like a damaged water fountain, but none of the others paid him mind. Really, how would they ever survive without comradery?

You didn’t know, because they wouldn’t; Illinois, in tandem with your bloodier style, brought a table leg down onto another of the staff, the frail wood cracking the second it touched his head. The man whirled around with fury in his eyes, but those soon rolled back with the force of a punch to his face. You watched on, subtly impressed, though now was no time to ogle. Instead, you could do so after these people had been dispatched. 

Strikes to the lower abdomens, blunt-force trauma to their foreheads, and what you hoped were lethal cracks of bone kept everyone wanting to live away from the corridor. You brought one dress shoe down on a woman’s fingers, sighed at the pitiful crunch that was muffled by her scream, and then stood up to assess the situation. One, two, three- four, two were on top of each other, and the one that Illinois was currently bashing against the wall. That made five at the scene.

Six, if you were to include the one that popped a bullet past your thigh. Lousy shot, they barely grazed the clothing, though it was a shame; that outfit had been one of your favorites. 

Swiping a hand to your gun, you whirled around to see a particularly bulky bastard rounding the corner you’d come from. Illinois jumped to your side to look at the arrivals and took notice of your weapon in quick fashion. If only he had more trouble with brutalizing that last one, you might have hit the bullseye.

But a pressure on your wrist distracted you enough to miss. With your target swiveling to look at the newly cracked mirror and one end of the corridor swarmed by suited staff members, your night was only getting worse, and you lamented as such while Illinois dragged you down to the only available exit. 

Your job required a lot of running – more than the average desk job did, at least – and that was why your legs were able to work on autopilot despite the adrenaline working through your veins that pressured you to be aware of every little thing that crossed your mind. The shattered glass from dropped plates, the swinging of doors as the last party members escaped, the texture of Illinois’ hand that had steadily moved to wrap around your own fingers. He was decorated with callouses and rough patches, war wounds sustained in the battlefield of caves and climbing. They told a story, one that you could have read had you enough time, but, for now, you had to be satisfied with knowing his present – told to you, not by his skin, but by you also experiencing it at his side.

That involved the darting through doors, ducking under pipes, skirting around the staff members who hadn’t gotten the memo. You didn’t even have the chance to ask where Illinois was bringing you, too focused on not slamming straight into a wall. The steady sounds of boots marching behind you, of which you counted six or seven, propelled you forward, like striking a match against a line of gas. You barely felt conscious throughout the run; the rattle of Illinois’ pickup truck went over your head, and the jingle of a bar’s bell hardly registered until you were seated in one of the old bar seats where you came to, a drink in your hand and Illinois staring right at you. Well, not just staring right at you, but also spilling every bad pick-up line in his book. 

“I was wondering if you had an extra heart, because mine was just stolen.”

You had half a mind to put your martini down and walk out the door.

“I’m really glad I bought life insurance, because when I saw you, my heart stopped.”

Did he have life insurance?

“You must be a bank loan, because you’ve got my int—” 

“Why do you even want that thing, anyway?” you interrupted, vaguely gesturing to the crown peeking out of his satchel with your non-drink hand. 

“So, now you’re interested?” he chuckled, but only stopped long enough to order a whiskey before he commented, “The crown of Dos Partom, an old relic from the Mesopotamian era. No idea how it ended up in a bidding war, but, really, it belongs in a museum—” he shot a glance to the side, acting as though he hadn’t been watching you for the past ten minutes, “—that, and the company isn’t bad.”

So, he was the cocky type? You could’ve guessed that from the million stories about his personality, but it was a wonder to see it in action. Sure, you had a habit of using your charisma to get into places you shouldn’t have been, but this? What was he hoping to achieve? You’d already saved his ass from Whimson’s lackeys, and yet there he was, perched on the bar stool next to you, continuing his verbal assault of shoddy lines. Your eyes rolling and your annoyance growing, you twisted in your seat and removed a cigarette from your belt’s pocket. Normally, on mission days, you had five or six, a large step down from when you had days off, and yet this day was taking its toll on your stash. 

“You shouldn’t smoke, y’know.”

And so, too, was Illinois taking his toll on your patience. 

“It’s not good for you.” Regardless, you continued your strut to the backgarden of the bar. Lucky for you, despite the lateness, the weather had taken pity on you. A gentle breeze carved through the foliage and guided the smoke of your cigarette into the moonlit sky. The growl of cars and humming of lights brought you to lean against the white brick wall and take in the scenery. When you got a moment to yourself, appreciating where you were was the best you could do – because, who knows, you could be dead tomorrow. 

You took another drag, and then placed it on your bottom lip as you retrieved your phone. It was just a burner that you took on missions, but it had all the essentials, including the number of your assigned agency representative. The handlers, you called them. You didn’t know the name of yours, but you trusted them with everything about yourself; where you were, who you were with, what you were doing down to the shift of a foot. Right now, you were entrusting them with the simple name of your mission and the promise of it having been finished at your normal quality.

“Berlin, 1996,” you muttered as you typed the letters. 

“Keeping a diary there, sweetheart?” 

Could you catch a break? Apparently not, you assumed, as the sight of Illinois wrapped around the corner. His hat was off, held in one hand, and both your drinks in the other. You met his eyes, he stared back, and then you removed your glass. 

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“What do you want?”

Illinois pretended to be shocked, reeling back and pressing his hat to his chest. “Me? Want something? From you?” he gasped, a smirk overthrowing his lips only when you didn’t react. “Not at all.”

“Don’t play dumb, Jones,” you warned. 

“I appreciate that you think I play dumb.”

That teasing smile, the glistening eyes, you had to look away before you did anything drastic. Whether that was punching him or kissing him, you didn’t know, but you knew that looked off into the well-trimmed hedges halted the urge. “I know you’re not just a pretty face, what do you want?”

“And I’m pretty?” Another chuckle. “You don’t need to say all that to get me interested.” 

“Just—” you took a breath in, “—tell me what you want from me, and then we can part ways. Easy.”

“And what if I don’t want it to be easy?”

Someone inside the bar shouted that it was last call, but neither of you moved to grab your final drinks. Neither of you moved, at all. You stayed still, Illinois stayed still, and the only sound between you was the buzz of moths at the dangling light just a few inches away. Illinois was… he was something else, that was for sure. Either he was going to kill himself, or you were going to kill him yourself. No matter what, you wanted to be there for it. 

Reaching out, you pulled a thumb along his jawline and took a sip of your martini out of the other hand. Illinois was too stunned to speak, leaving you the chance to remove your hand, snatch his hat and shove it onto his head in one, fast motion. He made some sort of sound, one that you didn’t catch as you waltzed back into the bar.

Illinois, standing in the porchlight, laughed to himself and followed you inside – and then, in another year, five months and two days, he’d be doing the exact same thing, except, this time, with a golden band around both of your fingers. 

[As a Brit myself, and having seen neither James Bond nor Indiana Jones, this was a treat for me! Thank you for requesting! Also, as some of you may have noticed, I have currently closed my requests because exam season is coming up, but I should be back around the end of June. Thank you for sticking with me, and, again, thank you for requesting!]

[demons2003]

Fruity Four Adventures (Part 1)

Series List

“Let’s get moving already!!” Robin yells from my car, beeping the horn over and over to get me out of the house. I roll my eyes and look back into my old empty home. It looks as empty as always but it still feels like it’s missing something. Or like me leaving is making a difference to the place. As I move to close the door, to forget about this home once and for all, another horn sounds from my left. Speeding down the street is Eddie’s van, Nancy leaning out the window and waving at us. “Oh god,” I whisper and make my way over to my car.

“God she looks so hot right now,” Robin whispers as I move next to her and Eddie pulls into my driveway. “If you made a move by now then maybe she’d already be yours,” I whisper to her, earning me a push in the arm and a fond, ‘Dingus’. “What are you two gossiping about over here?” Eddie asks as he comes bounding down the driveway. “How bad your driving was. You could’ve really hurt someone driving like that,” Robin jokes. Eddie pokes his tongue at her and Robin gives him one back. Neither of them stops even after they should have.

“If you’re both done, I’d really like to get on the road already,” Nancy states while coming up behind Eddie. “Leave them be for a sec. I wanna see who wins this,” I laugh and walk over to Nancy. She rolls her eyes but nods. “They could stay like this forever if we don't step in to stop them,” Nancy says after some time has passed of the two of them just staring at each other with their tongues out. “You're right but if one of them stops now then we can finally start our journey and I can get someone some ice cream on the way,” I tease, hoping that Robin would stop.

Instantly, Robin looks over at us and smiles. “Well let’s get going already, I want some ice cream!!” She exclaims and ducks back into the car. Eddie turns to us and gives a triumphant smile. I smile back at him as he says, “Thanks for that, sweetheart. I just won.” I blush and shrug my shoulders, walking back over to the driver's side of my car and opening the door. “Get in your van so I can get out Eds, or no ice cream for you." Eddie's eyes go wide and he runs back to his car, grabbing onto Nancy on the way. I laugh at Eddie’s antics and shake my head, jumping into my car and starting it up. Getting ready for our drive to our new home.

In their Chicago Apartment

“It’s so big in here!” Eddie gasps out loud, spinning around a few times to take the place in. The rest of us give a giggle at his actions and put down the last of the boxes we’ve been bringing up. “It’s a normal-sized apartment Eddie,” Robin says as she lays face down on the couch, clearly exhausted from the moving. “Not to me. I’ve been living in a show box for my whole life. This is so much bigger,” Eddie says, moving over to the couch and landing on top of Robin causing her to groan. “Come on, help us unpack some of this stuff before it gets dark. We are going to need some of this tomorrow,” I yell over to the two of them as Nancy and I start opening a few of the boxes labelled ‘Kitchen Stuff’ in Eddie’s scribbly handwriting. “But we’re tired!” Robin yells back at me, poking her head above the couch and giving me her best puppy dog eyes. “Yeah Stevie, we wanna rest for a minute,” Eddie says next, doing the very same thing as Robin.

I look between the two and sign, turning around so I don’t have to look at them anymore and they don't notice my blush. Eddie woops in triumph and more ruffling occurs over near the couch. “You are way too nice to them both,” Nancy whispers to me as she moves over. I smirk at her and tease, “If they were looking at you, you’d be reacting in the exact same way Nance.” She scoffs and shakes her head. Before she turns away from me though I notice a slight blush spread across her cheeks. We work the rest of the kitchen stuff into its place and turn to find both Robin and Eddie asleep on the couch. “They really were tired from all the driving and the moving,” Nancy whispers to me and walks over to the two of them. “Yeah, they’ll never lie about needing to sleep,” I whisper back and sit down on the loveseat next to the couch.

“They look really cute like this,” I whisper over to Nancy who is sitting on the coffee table facing them as well. She nods and runs her hand through Robin's hair without noticing. Robin groans a little but doesn’t stir too much. “Should we leave them here and finally go to sleep?” Nancy asks, turning slightly to face me. I shrug and look over at the two of them. They switched places before they got to sleep. Eddie is now lying on his back with Robin lying on his chest. My two favourite people sleeping together. So nice. “Nah, they’ll be cranky if we let them sleep all night on the couch,” I whisper and walk over to the three of them.

Nancy takes her hand off Robin and I start to shake her, trying to slowly wake her up. She groans and digs her face more into Eddie's chest, causing him to groan out as well. “Come on you two, you need to get into your own beds,” I say, shaking Robin again while Nancy starts to tap Eddie on the forehead. “I’m comfy here though,” Eddie wines, swatting at Nancy’s hand. I laugh at him and start to help Robin up. “If you get up now you can sleep in my bed then?” I ask, not really understanding why the thought made me a little nervous. Robin gives me a tired confused look while Eddie gets up excited. “Really?” He asks all excited and almost knocks Robin and me down in the process. “How about I take Robin to bed and you take Eddie to yours?” Nancy asks, giving me a very confused look. I blush and nod my head, moving Robin over to her. “Make sure she is on her side, she’ll kill me if she doesn’t fall asleep like that,” I tell Nancy as I let Robin move over to her. She nods at me and leads Robin towards what might be Robin’s new room.

I turn to Eddie to find him looking at me like an excited puppy, with no sign of sleep anywhere on him. I smile and gesture toward the hallway. He immediately runs in the direction of a bedroom and out of my sight. I laugh and slowly walk down the hall, noticing Nancy tucked into a bed with Robin in her arms. Dam they are really cute together. I look into another bedroom but find it empty so I continue on until I find Eddie already curled up in a bed, slowly falling back to sleep. I smile at him again and crawl in behind him, trying not to wake him from whatever he is dreaming about.

[blackjackkent]

Quick conversations with Shadowheart and Gale since they both got little exclamation points over their heads after the chat with Kagha.

"I know that look. You're wondering why I was in pain before. Let's just clear the air about that now. It's just an old wound that hurts me from time to time. Nothing to be concerned about. It's nothing to do with the tadpoles at least, in case your imagination is in danger of getting away from you. It's just...something I have to live with."

"Are you *sure* it's not connected to the tadpoles?"

"Positive. You can trust me on that."

"How badly does it hurt?"

"Quite a lot, if I'm being honest. But it always passes quickly, so I can manage."

"What's the story with that odd little artefact you have?"

"There's no story. None that you're entitled to hear, anyway. Just forget you ever saw it."

"What do you think of all that's happened to us so far?"

"We've been through quite a lot, with likely more to come. Care to narrow it down a little?"

"You must have thoughts about our little stowaways."

"Must I? Thinking about it won't help. We know what to do, so let's do it. Find a way to rid ourselves of these things. Personally, I think finding this 'Halsin' is our best bet. I'm not to hopeful that a gith creche will actually prove our salvation, but worth keeping in mind."

"What will you do, if we actually manage to remove the tadpoles?"

"I suppose we'd go our separate ways - not a slight on your company, of course."

"Where would you go?"

"Home. Baldur's Gate. There's someone waiting for me there. Someone I have to reach, as soon as possible."

"Seems personal. I won't pry, if it's not something you want to talk about."

"Thank you. And you're right, it's...a delicate matter. Not something for light conversation."

"How am I holding up, in your estimation?"

"I must admit, you've been a surprise, and not an unpleasant one. Kindred spirits are few and far between for me. Besides, you saved my life aboard the nautiloid. How can I do anything but sing your praises?"

"We should get to know each other a little more."

"Must we? No harm in a little mystery, don't you think?"

"You don't want to talk about yourself?"

"I should hope not. Have you ever heard the people who want to talk about themselves? I'm doing you a favor."

"You're deflecting. Are you hiding something from me?"

"Say for a moment that I was. Do you think your blunt approach would get me to confess?"

"I suppose not. We can let the matter rest for now, if you'd rather."

"Good. I like you, and you did save my life. I wouldn't want to sour things between us - not while we need each other."

Interesting. It is mindbogglingly clear that she is hiding something, or many somethings; I suspect Hector's told them all most of his history at the monastery but he knows VERY little about her in return, and she's making it plain she wants to keep it that way. In return - Hector is cautious about her.

I was a little worried that Hector and Caden were both too similar in their attitude of general kindness and generosity but Hector definitely does not have Caden's almost naive instant trust of everyone he meets. He is just a little too far out of his depth to feel like he can let his guard down with someone who won't do the same. He likes Gale and Wyll quite a lot but Shadowheart and Astarion have some work to do before they earn his trust - and Lae'zel had it but has pissed in her chili so she has a long way to go.

--

"Tiring business, isn't it? All this travelling and adventuring. Why don't we take a little break? Allow ourselves a few moments of rest. Gives me a chance to talk to you about something, well, rather important."

"'Rather important', no less? All right, go ahead."

"We've been on the road together for a while now, haven't we? Survived some perils, overcame some obstacles. Ever since you were kind enough to free me from that stone, I've seen you demonstrate remarkable guile and courage. The way you defused the tension between Zevlor and Aradin. The way you got Kagha to release the girl. In short: I've grown to trust you."

"That's very gratifying to hear."

"The reason I make a point of saying this is that I've grown confident enough to tell you something I've yet to tell another living soul. Except for my cat. You see, I have this...condition. Very different from the parasite we share, but just as deadly."

"What kind of condition?"

"The specifics are rather personal, but suffice it to say that it is a malady I have learned to live with, though not without some effort. What it comes down to is this: every so often I need to get my hands on a powerful magical item and absorb the Weave inside."

"Your illness causes you to consume raw magic? I'm going to need the details."

"I can say no more on the matter. Not now, anyway. Just trust me when I say it's all of vital importance. It's been days since I last consumed an artefact - since before we were abducted. It's only a matter of time before my craving returns. That is why I turn to you. I need you to help me find magic items to consume. It is vital. Dare I say it, critical."

"Where do you suggest we find the artefacts you need?"

"We've already done the finding. In fact, you have one in your possession. You know for yourself how hard won such an item was, and it will be no easier when even more are required to assuage my hunger. There will be danger involved - or great cost."

"Why exactly would I risk either of those things for a wizard I barely know?"

"Valid question. If not out of the simple goodness of your heart, then perhaps your own self-interest might be sufficient motivation. Having a wizard like me around is quite the boon when facing the perils that stalk these lands. It will be far harder for me to assist you if I can barely stand upright. Please - trust me. Your help could be the difference between life and death."

[WISDOM] Use your tadpole. Seek the danger at the heart of Gale's request.

Narrator: You become one with Gale's mind, and you can feel something sinister oppressing you. It's...inside of you, a mighty darkness radiating from your chest. You could try to push further, but your hold over Gale feels brittle. It won't be easy delving deeper without him noticing.

Decide not to risk it.

"So? Do you agree?"

"Very well. I'll help you manage this condition of yours."

"Thank you. I see my trust in you was not misplaced! I'm sure we won't have to look very far to find what I need: Faerun overflows with magic-infused treasure. As do our packs, as a matter of fact. We've such an item already in our possession, primed for the moment the need arises. I hope I can count on you."

Hm. Well, okay, he did trust Gale fully right up until this moment. I think I am discovering that other than cruelty the other thing Hector hates most is people keeping secrets. I think a secretive nature isn't really something he ever had to deal with at the monastery and it unsettles him considerably.

Very curious what's up with this "condition" since there's clearly more to it than Gale is telling us. But nevertheless - it feels important that all the tadpole-ites stick together for now, so Hector will do his best to keep him functioning as needed.

[corgiteatime]

This is my canon Tav: Ruse Tav Road. A very tired paladin with a drinking problem, an ironic inability to commit in relationships, and a love for connecting with people in general. She's god's most autistic soldier. Which god? She has no idea and she is going to make that everyone's problem!

Name: Ruse Tav Road

Age: Older than she looks

Race: Human

Class: Oath of Devotion Paladin

Home: Baldur's Gate, born and bred. None too fond of her hometown

Background: Soldier

Sexuality: Bisexual, polyamorous

Organization: The Beloved Brotherhood

Personality-wise:

Ruse was born a quiet and isolated person who desperately wanted to connect to other people. Her order trained her to be the gallant knight, giving her rules to make any situation go the way she needs. Still she struggles because she loves her fellow man deeply yet struggles when others get close and still feels her fellow soldiers and adventurer's deaths. Years of fighting have left her broken and bitter. And still at the start of BG3, she's still compelled to do what is just and right, even if her heart is breaking.

Now for some tidbits in no particular order:

While I have a screenshot of her with the lute, her instrument of choice is the concertina

She goes by her middle name of Tav because someone in her youth pointed out that "Ruse Road" is a dumb name and she agreed.

Few people in her adult life know her first name. Most people know her as "Tav" or "Ms Road" or "Captain Road". She doesn't even reveal her name to anyone but her romantic interest in BG3 and only once they reach the city.

When working whatever job that paid a few coins as a teenager, Ruse was plucked out of the working class and drawn into the Beloved Brotherhood to be a warrior because she physical prowess and unfaltering sense of justice

She's one of those 5th edition paladins that is bound by oath, NOT by any particular god

Once upon a time, long ago, she was married a well connected high-elf sorcerer who romanticized the idea of a long lived elf loving a short lived human

... But their marriage soured and turned abusive, leading to the permanent branching scar across her face

She became an Oathbreaker for awhile when she let her husband die in battle, but later regained her oath

She says that best part of her marriage was a wedding gift sent by her order: A mail box. A small magical wooden box that can expand to fit an infinite number of letters. It preserves anything that is ink or paper so long as they have been sent through some kind of postal system, leading her to have an extensive collection of letters and notes from her social network

At some point, she realized she hadn't aged. She had a few gray hairs and lines in her face but her human peers long went silver and were often grandparents. And she did not know why.

She is an actual alcoholic. She drinks to not feel the world and those amounts are something that would kill a human being.

She is quite beloved by her fellow soldiers and adventurers, since her order trained her to be well liked by foot soldier/on the ground types. She keeps in contact with them via mail and keeps track of their families and current situations. She's probably invited to 50 weddings a year and she has a form letter to politely turn them down and send a gift.

Fun fact: She is obsessed with architecture despite having no formal training in it. She just really enjoys seeing how different people using different buildings and how that shapes how structures look across whatever cultures she encounters. She has tons of notebooks that are nothing but drawings of buildings.

I'll post more about her history and timeline. I just wanted to share a little bit about her for now!

[byooregard]

what're ur ze recs hand em over

well now you're just fishing for compliments. fine tho. there isnt enough zero escape fanfiction in the world

The Bleeding Path by Sporadicx The missing nine, that Akane counts in years. [9 years between nonary games fic, best ever]

The First Nonary Game by airdeari A tale of nine children aboard a sinking ship, and the unbelievable story of how they survived. [note i wrote on my bookmark: this is one of those fics where I look in a fandom tag and go wow I hope someone wrote a really long thing to fill this very fanficable gap in original canon and boy howdy it does not disappoint! Getting to see 999 characters as teenagers, the tragedy of knowing this is a sort of prequel that has to end sad so that it can lead to the events of the game, all the first nonary game kids introduced!! Yuuki Ren Claire Nobu and Hideyoshi are canon in my heart <3. (also; everything by this author is a banger)]

Emergency Light by airdeari In the continuing adventures of SOIS and Crash Keys, Aoi Kurashiki finds himself partnered with Light Field as they stand by to receive while their sisters infiltrate a mysterious facility. When Clover transmits a distress signal, the boys find themselves literally and metaphorically traveling into deep, dark trouble.

5-2 Off Suite by Masu_Trout The second Nonary Game is over, leaving its survivors hungry, tired, and stranded in Nevada. A road trip isn't what any of them want, but the only way out is forward and the only way forward is across a long, long stretch of desert. (Alternately: Junpei and Snake share a hotel room, buy terrible clothing, and work out some feelings.)

ghost ship by mqole How long ago did they break? It hadn’t been too long, right? Maybe ten, fifteen minutes? That leaves just forty-five minutes for him to move Light to the chapel, get his clothes to Nijisaki in the shower room, and fix the REDs for doors [3], [7], and [8]. No goddamn sweat. Santa puts Snake in the coffin. [the nature of the zero escape fandom being made of like 10 content creators means that some of these will simply be by my friends. HOWEVER. still good.]

and to those gods i will speak bluntly by aesphantasmal Light was about to speak, say he had no issue with going through door five, too, when he felt the grip on his arm tighten further. "Four?" he whispered. Clover made a small noise that he took as a "yes." [Au where snake & clover go through door four w/ aoi & akane & snake Figures Things out too soon. awesome canon divergence great characterization written by an author whose other works are all good and who i have never spoken to in my life no sir. don't look at who this fic is gifted to. its good i swear.]

i am the righteous hand of god by aesphantasmal The mayor and the sheriff of a quiet frontier town are both killed in one day. But if you asked the folks around the town — from the newcomer to the new sheriff to the general store owner to the saloon keepers — nobody knows anything about it. The town keeps its secret, but to those who know the truth, that they know is enough. [cowboy au. need i say more?]

Also because this fandom has such little fanfiction comparitavely to most of the things i can reccomend. i have in fact written a bit of zero escape fanfiction . which you can find on ao3 at Beau (executive_gay)

[wildswrites]

god, gods, goddesses ;

prompt from @flashfictionfridayofficial​​​ !! word count : 997. context : +/- 2 hours post zombie outbreak, stopping for a break. content warning : n/a.

“So what do you believe in, Calla?”

We are in the woods again. Another break was inevitable; we have a lot of county to cover, and even with trading the baby back and forth, my arms are aching. I can’t imagine how tired Sienna must be - of weaker countenance and weaker strength - but I can almost see it from the shape of Sienna’s body where she leans against a tree, legs outstretched so tightly that the back of her knees nearly touch the ground. The baby sits in front of her, fisting handfuls of grass with a gleeful grin, and for a moment we were allowed to be still. Quiet. But now Sienna has broken the silence.

“God, Gods, Goddesses? Reincarnation, science, Adam and Eve, the tree of life?”

(continued below cut)

Every item added to the list only scrambles my brain further, but she keeps right on going. And when she’s done, when she’s quiet again, she is looking to me for an answer. I don’t have one.

“Is there ever an end to your questions?” I ask instead, because it is easier and because I’d much rather listen to her talk than the other way around. There is something to be said about the way a smile twists on Sienna’s face. We are close now, only a few feet between us, and I have little excuse to look away when we’re having a conversation, but I want to in as much as I don’t think that I can. 

“Of course not. We are made of curiosity at our basest point. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but I will warn you that I have a thousand more questions in waiting.”

That startles a laugh out of me, bubbling up my throat and into the air without a second of forethought; I look around, but there is nothing’s attention to garner. We are safe still.

“Why am I not surprised by that?” Her endless questions would get her in trouble back in school. There is no shock in the revelation that she never managed to grow out of it. “I… don’t know what I believe in, to tell you the truth. I’ve never been religious, but I like to believe that there’s some sort of meaning to our existence. Now though…” Now, with the dead chasing us down, with someone else’s child our responsibility, with Sienna at my side… “Now, I’m not so sure.”

“You don’t have to be sure. But what if you did? What would you pick?”

“Reincarnation, I suppose. Makes the most sense. And you have opinions on that, I hear?”

I expect her to launch right into it, because she always did as kids. She does not.

“Aw, not the tree of life?”

She raps her knuckles against the tree she is leaning against, eyebrow arched.

“Sure. The tree of life too. What’s the harm?”

We drift into silence, and I look around at the scene we’ve found ourselves in. Alone in the middle of the woods, and only halfway certain on the direction that we’re meant to be heading. In the front of my mind, I’m picturing finding another road at last, finding people, safety, making a police report or two. In the back of my mind, I’m wondering if it will actually go the way I want.

“I don’t just believe in reincarnation, you know.” She is quiet, and she is not looking at me. The baby is content babbling to himself, but she is no longer engaging with him; her gaze is on the dirt between her legs, and with one hand she draws fuzzy shapes. I can hear what she is feeling in her voice, but that does not give me the tools to fix it. “I know it is true, with all of me. I remember.”

“I know.” This belief had not won her friends when we were children. The moment that she had someone alone she would regale them with tales of seaside adventures, having a child of her own, learning how to bake bread with someone who died long before she was born. I always thought the stories were interesting, but that was more than I was willing to admit; I was not willing to lose friends the way that she was. “I believe you, as much as I can.”

Silence again, but it is not a painful one, just contemplative. Sienna is not looking at me, but I am looking at her - the gentle curve of her jawline, how her hair has tangled during our travels, the way she absently taps her fingers against her bare leg, attracting the baby’s attention whether she’s meaning to or not. She looks up, and catches me staring. “Do you want to hear about them?”

There is a warmth to my cheeks that I cannot deny, caught out without an explanation to give. She does not ask for one, and I like that about her. “...Just one. Like a bedtime story.”

She does not say it is not bedtime. She does not say we have to get moving again soon. She does not say I couldn’t possibly pick just one. Instead she smiles, she nods, and she begins.

“Well. I think the year was 1802, for my origin point in this story…”

From there she weaves a tale of being a child in Illinois, the responsibilities at her feet, the way that the household was run, the streets that she would take to get to church. She talks about moving to a town called Madison in its early years, and it is a place that I’ve never heard of, so she could be lying to me. I don’t think she is, inexplicably; the details are rich, the look on her face dreamy and faraway. When the story cuts off short, the girl in it only twenty-five years old, I do not comment. 

And when we get back on the move, I am content - its own, quiet, achievement.

taglist : n/a. ask to be added if you’re interested! general taglist : @thatonedreamer​​.

[deathisararemercy]

What if Perrito got separated from Puss and Kitty and is taken in by someone who's dog just died from old age. Would Perrito go back to Puss and Kitty if they do find him or stay with their new owner who treats him well?

Home is Where...

A/N: Hello anon friend. I'd like you to know that I said, "Oh...oh my heart" when I read this ask. Apologies for the delay. There were a number of ways I could see this going, so I wrote a little list of headcanons instead of a long convoluted fic. And in the case you are a person who has lost their dog or pet, I send you my condolences and well wishes. I hope that this brings comfort to those who need it. Thank you for sending in a request.

Content warning: references to past animal death

I imagine Perrito gets separated from Puss and Kitty in one of two ways:

1) A heist goes wrong, Kitty blames Perrito (still struggling with trust a bit...), and Perrito is shooed away. (Puss has to have a wor with Kitty about all...this).

2) Perrito gets lost in town, and is separated unwillingly from Team Friendship.

Perrito runs into someone while they're walking the path they'd usually take their late dog. Seeing Perrito alone on the road, sad and tired, they decide to take him home and feed him.

They're a bit surprised to find out he's a talking dog, but it's actually really nice to have someone to talk to. They become fast friends.

They're wary of bringing up their late dog at first, but at some point it comes up. Perrito is both therapy dog and therapist. Some nights, he finds this person looking at old paintings/drawings of their late dog and lays his head on their chest as they cry a little bit.

Perrito listens while they tell stories about their dog, and makes his own fun commentary if the moment calls for it. He loves seeing this person laugh, smile, and reminice. (See The Trident for Perrito's excitement for stories).

But Perrito also tells his own stories too, opening up about his past and the adventures and people he's met throughout his life. There was hardship, sure, but there was also so much love...he misses his friends a lot.

It's comforting and bittersweet for this person. Perrito has so much joy for living and so much love and positivity in his soul, it's both unbelievable and heart-warming. They begin to wonder how their dog thought of life and what their dog would've said if they could speak.

But in the present, Perrito is bringing them some comfort, and in return, they're sure to feed him well, listen to his excited chattering, and maybe even get him a new sweater.

Which is what makes it all the more...tense when Kitty and Puss finally find Perrito.

(If Scenario 1 occurred, Kitty would apologize to Perrito. She'd recognize that she shouldn't have lashed out like that to him. Yes, finding the ability to trust others was difficult for her, but Perrito was someone who had proven time and time again that he would always be there for his friends.)

At this point, Perrito would be torn. I think it's less about him being treated well by the human and not Puss and Kitty; it's more about him being worried about the human. Would they be okay if he went back with his friends?

If the human has come to better peace of mind after the death of their dog, then Perrito would give them cuddles before saying goodbye.

If the human is still hesitant, then Perrito would ask to stay with them for a bit. He'd get back in contact with Puss and Kitty when he was ready to go.

Ultimately, I think it boils down to Perrito's line: "My home is where my friends are." It doesn't mean he doesn't consider the human a friend or that he isn't really close with them, but Team Friendship means a lot to him as Puss and Kitty are the first two people he's really grown close with.

[sighbergeist]

on Chipper

i was kind of a lonely boy growing up. i was painfully shy and reserved; sensitive, insecure. i never really felt like i fit in anywhere. and being raised catholic certainly didn’t help. i felt like i always had to play pretend in someone else’s skin. or maybe it was less of a desire to fit in and more of an urge born of a soon-to-be record-breaking people-pleasing streak. whatever. either way, i spent a lot of time alone in my own little world. it would have been all too easy for me to turn inward and begin the time-consuming task of self-destruction. but on christmas morning of 2001 (i was 3 going on 4), there came Ripley, the first of a trio of dogs that gave me the possibility to turn outward and create instead of destroy… but this isn't really about me. this is more like a snapshot of something beautiful and innocent in an effort to honor it. i do think i needed to write this, though.

the four of us — we’d run and explore and play make believe all day. kings, queens, knights, ninjas, pokémon, bakugan, my own “-mon” spin off i’d created. i’d write plays and make music videos starring them. the possibilities were endless. exploring forests until we found a road, sliding down the slide one after another, totally slaughtering bad guys, listening to me cry when i felt like i couldn’t to anyone else. i consider myself lucky. they were family to me. Ripley and Trooper left in 2018, and now, Chipper has left as well.

the final addition to the trio, she was this little Catahoula Leopard Dog pup in the corner of the pound on a spring day in 2009. and when she looked at me with her beautiful honey, sad puppy-dog eyes, i immediately spoke up and requested to meet her. her name was Chi — some hippies were moving and couldn’t take their few-month-old puppy with them so they dropped her off at the shelter. hearing that story made me sad, but i was much much happier. she was timid and reserved like me and i instantly made up my mind that she was the dog we’d take home. her shyness didn’t last and she blossomed into a larger-than-life personality. "Chipper" was very fitting.

she was hilarious. she couldn’t keep up with Trooper so she’d grab onto his tail and he’d drag her. she’d drink water by sticking her nose into the bowl and biting. she’d always be on the prowl to pounce on Trooper, so she’d run on top of my dad’s car to get a better view (which i remember having to help wax once - thanks a lot).

she was so goofy, but she was smart and loyal. she knew friend from foe. she was excited to meet every person invited into our home. she only bit someone once — a guy who was casing our house. he never came back. the ups driver also seemed to have a bad aura, but she never bit them. she was patient with the little dogs and would lie down to play at their level. she’d would watch over Ripley like a hawk, but in a lot of cases, he was watching out for her. one story in particular stands out: she was messing with the donkeys and they got tired of it, so they were chasing her—heads and ears down, hot on her tail, mad as hell like rent was due—out of the pasture. Ripley was watching from just beyond the fence the whole time and as the donkeys ran up to stomp her out, he let out the deepest bark i’d ever heard from him (a mini schnauzer). it was like a cartoonish hit-the-breaks moment for the donkeys and Chipper was able to slip under the fence just in time. she was mischievous and, as kiddo-me would say, a little bit ‘evil’ in the best way.

she was adventurous, full of character, beautiful, and spry (though, she was still rather clumsy and became a bit chonky in her later years). but above all, oh boy, was she good. all she ever wanted to do was please you and be near you. she loved so much with her whole wiggly body and wrinkly forehead. she was gentle, friendly, and affectionate. everyone who met her would say they wanted to take her home. some of my friends may know her as Amanda (idk why). she was my dad’s favorite (that’s a big deal). she had i swear to god, you couldn’t train a dog to be any sweeter, and that’s just how she was. she was the best girl…

it stings a little extra now that i am the last of the original crew. i feel this unfillable absence, a constant dull ache in some undefined cavity in my chest. and though my heart breaks and a heaviness pools at the bottom of my throat, i wouldn't trade it for the world because i consider myself lucky far more than i consider myself sad. i'm happy to have shared even a fraction of this little life with them.

today, i generally blanket reject religious institutions. i think my perspective on the cycle of life is probably best summed up by a combination of the first law of thermodynamics and reincarnation. but there is a part of me that remains spiritual. the same part of me that wants only to do good in this world, if only out of rapacity. i hold out belief that there is something beyond this because, selfishly, i want to run with them again. i want to be greeted in an empty cornfield on a perpetually sunny day, untouched by the years and aches that came. there is no doubt in my mind that my unending optimism that there is good in this scary world is because of those three and the moments we shared. all that youth and beauty and innocence and love won’t be wasted on me.

so, the trio is reunited. i hope i’ll join them one day, in some way or another. rest in peace, Chippie. i’ll miss you. i love you, good night. 🧡

to be loved...

is to be changed <3

Chipper Chica was loved so so so very much for 15 long years. we were so lucky.